Temple of the Winds

Cara brought her hands down, rubbing her wrists, now smooth where they had been cut before. She felt her stomach. Even the old scars were gone. "I am healed," she whispered. "Lord Rahl healed me." "Yes! Cara, please, Richard is dying. I have the book, but I need the things he keeps in his belt."

Cara abruptly sat up, pulling the red leather across her chest. She buttoned two of the buttons to hold it closed.

"His belt. Yes. You stay with Lord Rahl. I will get it." "Hurry!"

Cara stood, swaying for a moment as she steadied herself, and then she dashed from the room. Kahlan hugged the inky black book to herself. She bent over Richard.

He was hardly breathing. She knew that any one of those breaths could be his last. He had given them, Cara and Kahlan, the rest of his strength.

"Dear spirits, help him. Give him just a little more time. Please. He has suffered so much. Please just give him a little time, until I can destroy this vile book."

Kahlan bent over him and kissed his lips. "Hold on, Richard. Hold on for me, please. If you can hear me, we have the book. I know how to destroy it. Please, just hold on."

Kahlan knelt down on a clear spot closer to the door and laid open the book to the third page so she would be ready when Cara returned.

She gazed into a vision of a wasteland. There was sand, blown into dunes, stretching into the distance of the phantasm emanating from the book. Kahlan stared into that barren place, and saw runes on the sand-lines drawn in geometric patterns.

Her sight was drawn into the pattern of lines that swirled and twisted around. There, in the runes, was light. It flared forth, every color, shining out toward her, calling to her.

"Mother Confessor!" Cara yelled, shaking Kahlan's shoulders. "Didn't you hear me? I have Lord Rahl's belt."

Kahlan blinked, shaking her head, trying to clear her mind. She snatched the belt and undid the bone holder on the flap of the pack where Richard kept the sorcerer's sand. Inside, she found the leather pouch of white sand.

With Cara standing behind her, touching her shoulder, Kahlan cast a pinch of the white sand into the book.

The color boiled and twisted, tumbled and turned. Kahlan pulled her eyes away and stabbed her hand back into the pack, pulling out the other leather pouch, the one with the black sorcerer's sand. With two fingers, she carefully pulled the top open. Inside, she could see the inky black sand.

Troubled, Kahlan paused. There was something else, something tickling at the back of her mind.

The words. Nathan said to say the words, the three chimes, before using the black sand. Three words. What were they?

She couldn't remember them. Her mind raced after them, but they kept going around dark corners, and when she turned, they were gone again. Her thoughts mired in staggering fright. She ached in desperate thought, but the words wouldn't come to her.

Richard had them written in the palm of his hand. Kahlan turned, to go to read them from his palm, and froze.

Drefan, leaning up against the well of the sliph where he had fallen, somehow still hanging to a thread of life, was holding up the sword. Richard was lying right there, on the floor, within reach. Drefan was going to kill him. "No!" Kahlan screamed.

But the sword was already sweeping down. Faint, maniacal laughter drifted on the air.

Kahlan threw her fist up, calling the blue lightning to protect Richard. It didn't come. She was blocked from her power.

Cara was already diving toward Drefan, but she was too far away. She wasn't going to make it. The sword was halfway there.

A silver arm swept down and seized Drefan's arm, holding it tight. Kahlan held her breath. Another liquid silver arm enveloped Drefan's head. "Breathe," the sliph cooed, a voice promising the sating of bestial lust, a voice promising rapture. "/ wish you to please me. Breathe. ' Drefan's chest rose as he inhaled the sliph. He went still, holding the sliph in his lungs. The sliph freed him, and he slumped to the side. His breath left him, releasing the sliph he had inhaled. It drained from his mouth and nose, not silver, but red.

Kahlan felt something inside her part, a profound unraveling, and all at once, she joined with her power, a sweet reclaiming that brought a gasp of euphoric, inner union.

Drefan was dead. As long as they both live. Those were the words. Her oath was ended. The winds had returned her power. Kahlan was brought out of her daze when she heard Richard gasp for a breath. With renewed panic, she scrambled across the floor and scooped up his right hand, where Richard had written the message. She pried open his fingers.

The words were gone. The act of stopping Drefan, and his blood, had scoured away the writing.

Kahlan screamed in frustrated rage. She scrambled back to the open book. She couldn't remember the words. Her mind ached with frustration; she couldn't make the words come. What was she going to do?